Pussy Potty Patrol


OK, I’ll confess up front…I’m not usually a fan of so-called potty humor. So I’ll understand if some of you don’t think this one is funny. If that’s the case, you are excused.

But for those of you who like some good old fashioned potty humor, here it is…

My male cat, Prince Charles, affectionately known as “Baby Boy” is extremely obsessive-compulsive. But then, aren’t most cats?

Believe me, I’ve owned lots of cats in my day, each with their own set of unique idiosyncrasies, but this one takes the catnip.

Whenever I am home and feel the need for a “pit stop” in the little girl’s room, regardless of where he is in the house, or which state of conciseness he is in (awake, asleep or eating), Baby Boy’s internal feline radar is immediately alerted. He jumps up without fail and follows me into the bathroom like Robo-Cat.

Of course, I COULD shut the door, but now that our kids are grown and gone, my husband and I so rarely have company in the house anymore that I usually don’t bother.

Here’s a snapshot of the usual scenario:

Me, getting up from my chair or my bed and heading for either the guest bathroom or the master bathroom, depending on where I am in the house.

Once I’m perched on the “throne”, the countdown begins.


Never fails. At the three-and-a-half mark, here he comes, just like clockwork.

I guess in his limited feline mind, I am just sitting on a funny looking white chair for…who knows or cares why?

Then it begins. It’s always the same routine.

He slowly sidles up to me, rubs his body against one of my shins and tilts his head up at me, straining to get my attention so I’ll reach down and pet him.

It’s as if he is saying, “Well…you’re not using that hand at the moment, so why not use your time in here constructively Lady and PET ME!” And he means it. No pussy footin’ around.

The first time he did this when he was a little kitten, I baulked. Excuse me, mister, but I don’t need your company in the bathroom, thank you very much! But of course when he looked at me with his sad little kitty eyes, I couldn’t refuse.

That was my first mistake.

You see, once you say “yes” to a feline friend for whatever reason,  they truly believe you will keep doing it into infinity. After all, they are creatures of habit, like us. And far be it from me to disappoint his sweet little kitty heart. Darn it all.

Of course now, after several years of this behavior it has become an ingrained habit and I always oblige him in my usual manner. I place my hand on top of his head and he keeps walking so that even if I keep my hand stationary, he gets petted all the way to the end of his tail.

Then, like an airplane circling before landing, he comes full circle, back around from the opposite side for another full body rub.  At the very least it staves off any possible boredom.

Repeat until mommy finishes her business.

Believe it or not, his particular brand of kitty radar knows when that moment arrives too.

The minute he hears the roll of toilet paper spin, he knows its time to leave. Out the door he trots, back to where he came from just as mysteriously as he came. On queue. Always. Remarkable.

In trying to analyze this strange feline behavior over the years, I’ve wondered if he’s neurotic for following me into the bathroom or if I’m the crazy one for letting him do it?

I’ve since rationalized that in the old days, in most upper class circles, there was almost always a paid bathroom attendant in fancy hotels or restaurants to hand patrons a clean, steaming hot towel or to ensure they had whatever incidental toiletries were needed when they visited an upper crust restroom.

I remember my shock as a poor teenager when I  inadvertently visited the bathroom at the Waldorf Hotel in Houston, Texas one day only to find an elderly woman sitting on a stool up against the wall, smiling at me. Her sole task was to make sure I and other the other female hotel patrons had a pleasant bathroom experience. It blew my mind.

So, in a sideways-logic-kind-of-way, maybe having a cat serve as the Pussy Potty Patrol isn’t so crazy after all. Besides, if we’re honest, don’t all of us  want a pleasant bathroom experience?

Recently Kitty Boy wandered off our property and was gone for several days in a row. I have to admit, I worried that he wasn’t going to come back. And that made me very sad. Why? Because he had not taught his sister to follow me into the bathroom in his stead!

How was I going to cope with having to go into that room all alone?

Fortunately, a few days later he came home and we have since happily resumed our weird habit of visiting the bathroom together. You know…just like most girlfriends do?

If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he is my best “gay” kitty boy friend.

Don’t tell him I said that.


Kitty Bowling


My husband and I used to live in a tin can. Not literally of course. It was a small 1970’s style single wide mobile home with a flat metal roof. We affectionately called it our “love shack”.

At that time, we were also the proud parents of roughly twenty – yes, I said TWENTY cats!

OK, I know what you are thinking, “how irresponsible of you!“

The truth is that we were poor in those days and kitty birth control was NOT in our budget. This resulted in several generations of our cat children going forth and multiplying month after month. We had big cats, small cats, fat cats, skinny cats, cats that climbed on…well, just about every surface you can imagine.

We loved, fed and named them all. We were one big, happy feline family.

One night as we were laying in bed talking over the days events, we were suddenly startled by a strange, loud noise that started directly over our bedroom and ran the length of the trailer roof, fading out the further away it got.

“THR-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-UMPMEOW-W-W-W-w-w-w-w-w-w! V-E-R-R-ROMPA….OOMPA….OOPMA….OOPMA….oompa…oompa…oompa…MEOW-W-W-W-w-w-w-w-w-w! Thud“!

At first we thought it was thunder and that some of the cats got caught by surprise by an oncoming storm. But when it happened again half-a-dozen more times, we – analyzers that we are – began to theorize on what strange scenario could be playing itself out on our roof.

“Could two of the males be fighting over the same female?”

“Or…perhaps one of the males lured one of the females up on the roof for a little game of find-the-pussy?”

“Maybe they were all bored and decided to throw a group pussy party on the roof tonight under the moonlight and things just got out of control because someone had a little too much catnip?”

“No! No…..I’ve got it!”, my husband shouted, laughing himself silly.

“WHAT?” Between gasps for air he said, “They – are – BOWLING…you know, kitty bowling!”

We both collapsed into giggles as we pictured two or three of the older, bigger cats, each with his or her own custom kitten rolled up in a ball in their paws as they ran on tip toes up to the line and “tossed” their kitty baby balls onto the roof.

Each kitten then found themselves in their own personal groove on the aluminum roof, a few inches apart but moving in the same direction, rolling, rolling, rolling, head-over tail, the entire length of the house, until they smashed headlong into some of the medium sized volunteer cat “pins” that were lined up along the edge of the opposite end of the roof until…THUD! They all fell to the ground in a mangled, tangled feline heap.

We pictured a ladder at our end of the house, with a line forming as the kittens curiously climbed up to see what the big cats were doing up there. Sort of like the lines at the average amusement or water park for humans. Little did they know what wild adventure was about to unfold in their young kitty lives.

Oh now, don’t be so judgmental. You weren’t there, OK? If you had been there, you would have laughed yourself silly too! It was just one of the funniest feline fantasies we had had in a long time.

And laughter is good for the soul, OK?

Especially right before bedtime.

Disclaimer: None of the cats depicted in this story were permanently harmed or hurt in any way.

So get over your feline phobia self.